The Sands of Time
by violet lily13
Summary: Egypt, 1922. The tomb of Tutankhamun has been opened, releasing a vengeful demon who is bent on destroying those who dare disturb its master's rest. Only an exiled witch knows how to outwit the demon, but she must find within herself the power do to so.
1. Prologue: Egypt, 1323 BC

_Disclaimer:__ recognizable characteristics of the Potterverse belong to J. K. Rowling and the name that Helen uses as a psuedonym has been taken from the books by Baroness Orczy. All else is based on historical fact/opinion and my own imaginings. _**  
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**The Sands of Time**

_Thebes, 1323 BC_

The night sky covered the world like a thick blanket, the only light coming from the tiny pinpricks of light shining from distant stars. On the rocky ground before the tomb, a young woman, dressed in finery that betrayed her queenly status, looked up at these stars, seeing the Great Hunter to the north, his loyal dog following him through his celestial journey. She desperately wished for the ceremony to be finished, preferring to mourn her late husband behind the walls of their palace. Although she would never speak against the gods, she thought it unfair that they had seen fit to take her husband's life in a cruel twist of fate.

Nineteen was too young an age to begin the journey to the afterlife, especially when that journey had to be taken alone.

Ankhesenamun, queen of all Egypt, sighed bitterly as she watched the empty shell of her husband enter the hastily-carved stone tomb. Since Tutankhamun had been very young at his death, there had not yet been a tomb made for him, therefore he was being placed within the tomb of a lesser noble, not the grand palace of death usually granted to a pharaoh. Even the treasures that were supposed to be his belongings in the afterlife were not of the highest quality, neither were there as many as there should have been.

The light from the flaming torches cast an eerie glow upon the inner sarcophagus decorated with gold and precious stones. The priests sung the incantations, the magic flowing from their rods of office and surrounding the door of the tomb. Once the body was placed within, the final incantation would be given and the tomb magically sealed.

If it was not serious enough for Ankhesenamun to lose her beloved husband, the stillborn bodies of their two children would also be placed within the tomb, to spend eternity with their father, who would most likely be proud of them. Tutankhamun had always been that sort of man. He had been the kindest and gentlest of Ankhesenamun's husbands, respecting her as though she were an equal, not a stupid child. Together, they had brought back the Old Ways, restoring the gods to their proper positions and bringing peace and constancy to a slowly cracking society. They had done everything together, as a king and queen should.

Now, all of that would be gone. Ankhesenamun would once again be married off to the highest bidder, a mere commodity, no longer a queen, but a slave of men.

"My lady," said a voice beside her. "Why do you not weep for your husband?"

It was Ay, the old king's vizier and perhaps her least favourite person in the world. He was not a cruel man, but nor was he kind. He would use her as his way to the throne of all Egypt, becoming pharaoh upon marrying her, the daughter of the old king and widow to the late pharaoh. It would be in his best interest to do so since Tutankhamun left no heirs, but Ankhesenamun would have preferred to remain a widow. Her heart and soul belonged to Tutankhamun, and to have her body violated by another man's lust would forever mar her in the eyes of Osiris. Never again could she be whole, a piece of her soul would always be lost in the darkness of Seth's realm.

"I do not cry because my eyes have no tears left," she replied sharply. "These last two moon cycles have dried my eyes like a desert wind."

"Do you regret his death then, my lady?" he persisted, hoping to catch her like the crocodile she knew him to be.

"Of course I do!" she exclaimed, her voice rising. "I loved Tutankhamun. That is something you will never understand, Ay, since you are only a lowly commoner! Now leave me in peace to mourn for my husband." She turned away, tears dripping down her copper cheeks and falling into the sand below.

Ay smiled wickedly, his dark eyes shining. "Then you will forgive me, my lady, if I go to add the final protection to your beloved husband's tomb. No tomb robber will dare to desecrate the pharaoh's tomb with such a protection as mine. With a mocking bow, he left Ankhesenamun, who was now surrounded with handmaidens busy drying her tears.

Although she did not dare watch Ay perform the final spell, she could hear his harsh voice reciting the words of an ancient spell. It had rarely been used in the past centuries - too many feared its power - but Ay's pride would not stop him from using it on the tomb of the young pharaoh.

He stood before the tomb's sixteen steps, holding his rod high above his head. As the words poured from his mouth, magic surrounded the tomb door. Suddenly, a black shape appeared in the air above the mourners, causing them to cry out in fright. The shape swirled around the tomb and Ankhesenamun could have sworn that she heard it crying out in pain. Whatever the being was, it did not want to be locked inside the tomb. Once Ay completed the spell, the being was sucked into the heavy stone door, becoming a part of the tomb itself.

After seeing the being, she knew exactly what the spell Ay was using would do. For eternity, the being would be trapped inside the tomb, forever guarding it from tomb robbers. If the tomb was ever opened by anyone except Ay, the being - perhaps it was a demon, Ankhesenamun thought - would have to destroy all who desecrated the tomb of the great pharaoh, sending them into the depths of darkness with no hope of an afterlife.

Ankhesenamun shivered, thinking of a death without the hope of living again. As a handmaiden wrapped a shawl around Ankhesenamun's thin shoulders, the young queen looked once more at the stars, hoping that her own death would not be long in the future.

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_Although most of the facts within this story will be true, a few will be exaggerated. And if you are wondering how this will have to do with the Potterverse, the next chapter will explain it for you. _) 


	2. Black and Grey: England, 1918

_Black and Grey_

There are many ways in which I could begin this tale of adventure and mystery. I could begin the day the tomb was discovered by Mr. Carter, or even later on the day that the tomb was opened and the demon released. The time that I first arrived in Egypt would also be an effective beginning, since it was then that I made the decision that would forever change my life. Yes, dear Reader, there are countless ways to tell this story, but only one can be used. Only one can explain everything that I am going to tell you. Only one can make sense of the events which occurred during the winter season of 1923-1924. Only one can reveal the entire truth.

Sometimes, I still wonder whether or not those events were all a dream. I am sure that many readers will not believe the sorcery taking place, nor the fact that a demon can indeed exist. If it had not been for my schooling I would not have either. But I never knew what it was like to be a "normal" person. For the first eighteen years of my life, I lived in a world of dreams and fantasy, a world that most could not even imagine. Yet for me it was entirely real. I was born a witch to one of the most affluent wizarding families in England and grew up to despise non-magical beings. It was not for many years that I realized just how wrong I was in my beliefs, or rather the beliefs of my family. In the years that I shunned my power, I learned that there was far more to the world than simply magic. There were people I met who could do amazing things without a wand or spells. It was those people, not my parents nor anyone from my childhood, who taught me how to love and trust. With them, I learnt true happiness.

Yet I also learnt that shunning my power was not an option. Magic exists in the world even though most do not see or hear it. The magical and non-magical worlds coincide, living off one another. Without one, there cannot be the other. Such a lesson was painful to learn, but sometimes pain is necessary to learn and remember. My magic is both a blessing and a curse.

Perhaps the best place in which to begin this story is to describe the event that made me question everything which, up to that date, were all I had known and believed in. I had been out of Hogwarts for one year - in other words, I was a full-fledged witch. The Great War was raging across the Channel where both muggles and wizards fought side-by-side. My parents did not agree with the War, thinking it illogical for wizards to even take part, yet they did not fight my brother's decision to go and join it. Hence during my final year of schooling, Hector left for France with other young wizards to fight what appeared to be a losing battle. Later on, I would curse myself for not having been there that day to warn him of the impending dangers of battle. Had I been gifted with the Sight, I would have.

In April of 1918, we received the owl which bore the tidings of my brother's disappearance during a battle. They never found the body, it seems. Even today, so many years afterwards, his bones are buried deep beneath French soil, never to be recognized, never to be acknowledged.

Our London house went into the deepest of mourning as soon as the news was received. The house elves covered the windows with black crepe and used the same material to surround my brother's portrait in the drawing room (although I cannot say that the picture was very happy about that). Hector had only been twenty-three upon his death and he left behind a wife, child, sister, and parents. It is difficult for me to even remember what he looked like, that is how long I have been absent from the world I grew up in. He had the dark hair of my father, that is certain, but he also had strange eyes. What colour they were I could not tell you. Perhaps they were dark, or even grey like mine. There is too much of my early life which has gone forgotten by my aging mind.

His wife, my sister-in-law, was a willowy girl who had rather been forced upon Hector before he was to leave for France. It was my parent's side of the agreement that he marry if he chose to join the army. Eleanor Nott was a suitable wife, if nothing else. Barely three months after we received notice of Hector's death, she wasted away and died. It is possible that she committed suicide, as my father could have easily covered up any evidence that would cause scandal, but now something tells me that Eleanor had been weak and afraid. At the time I did not understand why she would die, wasting what could have been a full life and leaving her infant son alone in the world.

It was not until a few weeks later that I did.

I was sitting one September morning in the conservatory, practising piano. Everyone said that I was a good musician, yet I did not believe them. Most adults gave useless praise to children, even ones who were old enough to be adults themselves. At nineteen, it still appeared that to my parents and the rest of the world I was still a child to be coddled and adored by all. I hardly looked like a child, being only inches short of six feet with a body so shapely in places that I was quite embarrassed at dinner parties. Not that anyone seemed to look at me. Even the wizards took no interest in me, to the horror of my teenaged self-esteem. To them, I was a Black and therefore untouchable.

Before I begin this early part of my narrative, allow me to apologize for the imperfections fo the following scene. For many years, I tried to forget the event that forced me into exile, but with this memoir, I find my memory scattered and incomplete. I have recorded all I can remember, yet there are gaps and places of inconsistency. These can be attributed to the failing mind of an old woman. But I digress.

The moment my father entered the room, I should have known that something was amiss. The whole household knew never to disturb my practice or they would receive an evil look and perhaps a jinx if they weren't so lucky. But that morning, my father came into the conservatory and politely asked me to stop.

I did, of course. My father was not a man to be reckoned with.

"Come with me, Helen," he said. "There is something important that we must discuss."

Grudgingly, I nodded and followed him after folding away my music. He led me into the library, a room that I had forever adored for its smell of old books and for its atmosphere of intense thought mixed with a hint of relaxation. Once he had sat in his old green leather chair, he motioned me towards one of the hard Windors on the other side of his gigantic desk.

"Have you ever thought about marriage?" he asked suddenly.

I stared at him incredulously. "Who is there left to marry? Nearly all the young men I knew are either dead or maimed. I do not wish to end up like Eleanor, Father."

Father smiled, an amused look in his near-colourless eyes. "I would never assume you'd ever be, my dear, but things have changed recently. Your role in this family is one of those changes." With these final words, his face darkened as though he were not entirely pleased with such a change. From my earliest memories, my father had always deeply cared for me, teaching me how to read and giving me inspiration for my fond affection for history.

Suddenly I heard voices in the hall approaching the library door. Father looked around him, worry on his face. He seemed desperate, like a cornered animal. Something was happening around me and until that moment, I had taken no notice of it.

"You must forgive me, Helen," he said. "But your mother believes that Orion cannot be raised as an orphan, that he must have a family."

Orion. My nephew. I stared at Father, only partially understanding his meaning.

"Does mother wish for me to become Orion's guardian?" I asked him.

Father swallowed uncomfortably. "Yes, but there's more than just becoming his guardian. It would not be proper for a single young woman to raise a child in our circle. She is planning for you to marry first."

I opened and closed my mouth a number of times, lost for words.

He leaned over his desk and took my hands in his. "Helen, haven't you noticed the sudden attention she has paid you? All the new dress robes and all those times getting your hair done by her own maid? Your mother has never done anything for anyone without it suiting her own purpose."

I wrenched my hands from his and rose from the chair, feeling my cheeks redden with both anger and shame. How could I have been so naive?

"Most fortunately for you she has made a wise choice in husband for you," Father continued, his voice becoming more serious. "Even though I am opposed to you getting married so soon as I was with your brother's untimely departure, Canis will serve you well as husband. He has many fine qualities."

The strangled sound that emitted from my throat at the sound of that accursed name rang through the room. "Canis Malfoy? Are you mad, Father? Not only is he at least ten years my senior, but he looks at any witch as though she were a common whore!"

"Don't use such language in this house!" Father exclaimed angrily. "With your beauty and his cleverness, this family might be able to piece itself back together. Haven't you seen the way that purebloods are dying off, Helen? A connection between the Malfoys and Blacks will cause this rift to end. Once more the purebloods can rein over our world."

I bit my lip, trying to fight back the tears. The only ally I had left, my father, was now turning against me. When he had been kind and loving only moments before, he had suddenly become a monster I hardly knew. He and mother would marry me off to a man who would take my pride, crush my spirit, and lead me to an early death. And where would they be throughout this? Hector would never had allowed this to happen. He had known what Canis was really like.

"I hate losing you so early in your life, Helen, but this is necessary," Father was saying. "Your mother and I have agreed that you will marry as soon as it is possible. The arrangements are being made as we speak."

"What about what I think, Father?" I impulsively cried out. "What about my own feelings? How can you make me marry a man I despise?"

"Who else is there to marry?" he returned sharply. "If you can name a candidate, please do."

But I couldn't. There was no one, nor had there ever been. Even with my looks, my wit, the boys at school had never given me a second glance and in the past few years, most of the males I knew had died on the battlefield. It was not a great surprise that someone like Canis Malfoy had stayed behind. He was too great a coward to fight without his wand or even to fight at all. He loved power and money, thinking only higher of his own self, the pompous ass.

The sound of Father's chair backing away from the desk alerted me to the approaching voices which had now reached the door of the library. I could hear my mother's quiet, but fiercely cunning voice speaking excitedly to someone. That someone I presumed to be Canis Malfoy.

"Father," I said with desperation. "Please don't go through with this. I'll do anything!"

"I cannot make both you and your mother happy it seems," was his only reply.

As the door opened, he only had time to give me a sympathetic glance before mother entered, closely followed by a tall man whose very presence emitted his greed. I turned away from them, walking towards the French doors which opened onto the verandah.

"And look how modest she is, Canis," my mother said with a sly smile. "She doesn't wish to have you look upon her until after the wedding. Such a dear she is! Now come here, my dear. I assume that your father already told you of our glorious plans."

"Indeed he has," I said grimly, not daring to look at them. "And I want to tell you that I refuse to go along with it. Never will I marry, that is my greatest wish, Mother."

In the silence, I could almost imagine my mother's cherry red face glaring at my father, who would most likely be more amused than anything. As for Canis, I dared not to think. Perhaps he was leering at my silhouette, or worse, staring at me with disgusting thoughts in his head.

"What are you talking about?" my mother spluttered. "Never marry, what an idea!" She must have turned to Canis at this point because I heard her say to him. "Don't mind her, she's simply astonished at such an honour. You know young people these days."

"Magdalena," Father addressed her quietly. "This might not be the best time to introduce her with such plans. She's still upset about Eleanor's death, you know. They were close friends."

"Oh rubbish, Eduard!" Mother exclaimed in reply. "Helen despised Eleanor like she hates everyone in the world. It's not healthy for a girl to seek the company of no one. Marriage will do her some good."

"I'm not saying otherwise," Father argued. "Only that perhaps it'd be best to postpone the ceremony another week. It's quite a shock for Helen, and I hate to see her so upset."

"Quiet, both of you!" I cried, sick of their verbal tennis match. "Never marrying means that I don't want to marry today nor any other day. Postponing the marriage won't help any, I'll be gone before you can say 'I do!'"

Most unfortunately for me, Canis actually looked impressed at my outburst while Mother stared at me as though I had grown horns. For many years I had envied her shining golden hair and generally striking appearance, but at that moment all I could see was the cunning in her eyes and the look of distaste on her red lips. She had always preferred Hector over me, and I realized her need to punish me for being the child who had survived her beloved son.

It wasn't that Canis was an ugly man, none of the Malfoys are. He was tall and muscular with a haughty face and clear blue eyes. His white blond hair was in a fashionable style and all his robes were of the highest quality. But it was his manner which I could not stand. Most likely he would treat me as though I were garbage, a slave to his passions and desires. That was the one thing I refused to be for any person, be it man or woman. I would be owned by no one.

There was a snicker from above the mantlepiece. The portrait of my great-grandfather Phineas Nigellus, was looking down at the scene with much amusement.

"You can tell she's a Black by her stubbornness," he declared proudly. "It's obvious that she won't listen to you, my boy," he added, addressing Father. "I always said that you spoiled her too much. Obviously even a Malfoy isn't good enough for her now."

"Enough!" Father growled, pointing his wand at the portrait. Curtains appeared, covering Phineas' surprised and rather hurt face. Out of everyone in the library, he had been the only one who had actually been enjoying the action.

Father then turned to me, his eyes blazing. "There has been enough trouble here. You will marry Canis no matter what you wish, Helen. Perhaps I was incorrect. Perhaps you need to grow out of your childish attitudes."

While I stared at him, open-mouthed, he pointed his wand in Mother's direction.

"I blame you for all this, Magdalena," he said, his voice dangerously low. "If it weren't for your meddling, this family would not need to be brought back together by a badly-planned marriage. My son would still be alive and my daughter would not have to sell her body merely because you think it best. Don't even think of enjoying the rest of your life here."

He stormed out of the library without a look at Canis, slamming the door behind him. Before anyone could take notice of me (for Mother had fallen into the nearest chair with a case of the vapours), I stole out the French doors and ran into the garden, hoping to find more than simply peace and quiet.

That night, once the household was asleep, I left, taking with me all the possessions I could fit into my old school trunk. Using a spell to shrink the trunk, I apparated out of the house, never to return. Where I was bound, I had no idea until I reached Dover and was on the ferry to France.

I had always dreamed of visiting Egypt, a country that for so long I had read about. The tombs, the pyramids, the history ... all of it appealed to both my heart and mind. At least there it was warm and dry, no more of that infernal dampness.

Yes, Egypt definitely was the place for me.

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_Phineas Nigellus and the Black family in general, as well as the magical world, belong to the great J.K. Rowling. _


	3. Tomb of a Thousand Suns: Thebes 1922

_Tomb of a Thousand Suns_  
Thebes, Egypt: winter 1922

The sun was very hot for so late in the year. At least that's what it felt like while I stood amongst the crowd in that damnable valley. It wasn't even a real valley, merely a big ditch carved out by water during he rainy season. Whoever called it the Valley of the Kings was looking for romance, not practicality when he (because it always feels as though the men name things like valleys) chose that name. Honestly, how much romance can anyone find in a graveyard filled with bodies that have been rotting for at least the past two thousand years? There is the treasure aspect involved, I'll grant you, but not many tombs were ever found containing much more than some smashed pottery and an empty sarcophagus. That is, until Tutankhamun's tomb was discovered. That tomb was the reason a crowd had gathered by the location of an old rubbish pile, not that anyone was perfectly certain that it would be the tomb of a pharaoh. It was likely that it was merely another cache of mummies like the one found a decade or two earlier. But of course most people were optimistic that the find would indeed be a tomb, one that was possibly intact. That tomb was the only bloody reason I was standing in the crowd getting burnt by the sun as an egg is fried on a hot stove.

Four years had passed since I'd left England, four years of both freedom and hardship. I was forced to become a different person and change my expectations of the world. In Egypt I was very much alone. There was no one I could turn to for help or advice, but nor was there anyone trying to control my life. It was a mixed blessing, as many things in my life would be.

Upon my arrival in Egypt, I had used the few skills I had to earn money to live on. Not all of these things were above the law, including a month spent in the workshops of a fake antiquities producer. I was a young, unprotected female in the midst of a male-oriented society far from anything that was familiar to me. There were times of hardship, when I would find myself in difficult positions while having to spend more than one night unprotected on the streets of Cairo. Yet somehow I escaped after little more than a year. I would not go so far to say that magic helped me out of the fire I had unwittingly jumped into, but I will admit that without my wand, I may not have gotten out unharmed.

However, my memory of those times has worn thin as I write this. Perhaps they were not so terrible as my aged mind continuously tells me. My ambition to become an archaeologist kept me from giving up. Somehow, fourteen months after leaving Blackstone Hall, I found myself at the Luxor train station with money in the pocket of my ragged coat. The knowledge I had of Egyptian history, more specifically in ancient languages, landed me a place with a collector of antiquities. It was perhaps with him that I learned most about antiquities and archaeology, but there is only so long that a single female and an older wealthy man can spend time together until the gossips begin their work. After my father, the collector was the first man I felt I could trust and for me, trust didn't come easily. As I look back upon my youth, there are less than a handful of people I could trust, but none of them were people I would trust with my life.

Once again I was alone in the world, not that I complained about it. There were just some things that a person didn't bother to complain about, especially when one had run away from home. I found a place to board for not too much money yet still live in relative comfort and took on small jobs with museums or even with archaeologists if I was lucky enough. Not too many of them, however, were happy to find that I was a woman.

But none of that really explains why I was, at that moment, standing under the hot sun in a crowd of not-too-fresh smelling spectators who were shamelessly gawking at a hole in a cliff face. Hardly one of the most exciting days of my life, but it was an exciting day for the world of Egyptology.

It was opening day for the tomb. The one tomb that every person in the crowd had waited weeks to see, even if it was only to have view the smallest statue or piece of jewelry. No one really expected to see very much until Mr. Carter had safely cleared the tomb. I was certain that the majority of spectators cared only about the treasure - anything of direct monetary value. Not for the first time that day I privately wondered how many thieves were among the spectators. The man standing beside me certainly would have fit the bill, resembling a pirate like he did with his swarthy appearance and the collection of scars evident on his face and hands. His dark eyes twinkled as he watched every movement made by the main party gathered around the tomb entrance.

When he caught me looking at him, he winked, his not-entirely-white teeth appearing for a short moment as he grinned.

"Exciting occasion, isn't it?" he asked, the combination of accents in his voice revealing both an American and Hebrew background. Perhaps he had grown up in the American settlement in Jerusalem? I thought as I tried to think of a reply that would not be too biting or sarcastic. Living among muggles for four years had taught me a few things about courtesy.

"I suppose it is, not that anyone out here will really see anything interesting," I said blandly.

"So why're you here then? Surely a pretty lady like you would have better things to do with your time."

The glare I shot in his direction had no effect on his apparent cheerfulness. In fact, I could have sworn that it only made his grin wider and his eyes sparkle even more.

"I am here because this is an event to be remembered, the first tomb found in years that could very well be intact," I replied cooly, allowing a drop of acid into my voice. "All I'm here for is to hear that those rumors are true."

"Same here," the man replied.

So my initial suspicions about his trade were true. It was becoming more and more likely that at that moment I was standing beside a tomb robber who would take all the valuable treasures from the tomb that could better be used for archaeological purposes and sell them to a greedy collector somewhere back in Europe or Britain. Working for one of those collectors, although he was not so greedy, had not changed my beliefs about the proper use for ancient artifacts. It would be better for them to be in a museum where everyone could see them, not locked in a house for the pleasure of a select few.

"Are you an archaeologist then?" he asked, breaking into my thoughts like I was sure he broke into hallowed spaces. "There've been a lot of ladies going into that business lately."

I scowled him, which was probably more than he deserved. My hand was itching for my wand, which was safely hidden in an inner pocket of my jacket. A nice jynx would do this man well. "You make it sound like we are prostitutes, sir."

A slight flush became visible on his throat. One point for me.

"I - I'm sorry you took it that way, ma'am. I didn't think -"

"Obviously you were not thinking, or else you would not have said it."

When he began to laugh, I wondered why my sarcasm was only making this predicament worse. Usually men would cringe and slide away quietly, their pride severely damaged. This man, however, was actually _amused_. The idea of moving away from the man crossed my mind, but he stopped me by holding out his hand in my general direction.

"It's certainly been awhile since I've met anyone who can speak like that," he said, the laughter still in his voice. "The name's Smythe. Alexander Smythe. Spelt with a y and an e."

I shook his hand, feeling the thick callouses on the palm. "That's certainly original. I'm Helen Blakeney." It was not hard giving him my assumed name. I had gone for four years without anyone suspecting that it was not my real surname.

"I could say the same for you, Miss Blakeney," he said with a wink. "Would I be correct to guess that you would've taken Chauvelin had you looked and acted more French? I would have to say that you're definitely English. Only they could be so stuck-up like you."

My jaw dropped. How dare this man speak to me in such a way! What gall he must have had to say such a thing! Before I could whip out my wand to lay on him an Unforgivable that the Ministry of Magic would never even know about since I was quite far from their reaches, something in my head, most likely my conscience, the annoying thing it was, told me to stop. First of all, I was in a crowd of muggles. I certainly could not obliviate each person's memories alone and in a conveniently short span of time. Secondly, I was too proud to let my feelings show. That came naturally with being a Black.

The surprising thing was that he was right. I _had_ taken my new surname from a disgustingly romantic novel I had smuggled home after stopping at the muggle bookshop near the Leaky Cauldron. It was a very good book, one that I had read a number of times late at night, but how in Merlin's name could this Smythe person know that I had taken on the name of that book's main character?

"I'm guessing that I'm right with my little deduction," he proclaimed, tapping his temple like something extraordinary had happened in his brain. Perhaps it had. "A person doesn't come across too many Blakeneys, you know."

I snorted. It was an unfeminine sound, but it seemed to be the best response at the time. "But there are always too many Smiths, no matter how they spell their name." I told him, beginning to move away. I'd had enough of the aggravation of speaking to him. "Now if you'll excuse me..."

As I pushed through the crowd to escape the aptly-named Mr. Smythe, my thoughts rushed in a direction that I did not necessarily want them to. It was obvious that he was a fraud of some sort, be it a common swindler or expert thief, but how different was he from myself? We were both hiding from something greater than ourselves, whether it was the law or the pressures of family, being forced to change our names to ones so obviously made-up that no one else would realize. So that in a way made me a fraud as well, that strange connection of made-up names, if in fact his last name was made up at all. He may have just been flirting with me. That was always a good way of explaining away troublesome conversations with the male species.

I finally reached a conclusion once I had made it around to the other side of the crowd, which was thankfully closer to the tomb entrance than my previous spot. In my mind, he was a fraud defrauding anyone who left themselves open for attack. I, on the other hand, was only defrauding one person: myself.

Why else would I have run away from home when I was finally needed as more than something pretty? I had shied away from responsibility, leaving behind my brother's orphaned child with my overbearing mother and the man she would have married me to. At least there I would have still had my father and his wisdom. What sort of delusions was my mind filled with to have left all that to go on adventures, to travel and learn about the world, cruel and bitter as it was?

But it was too late now to go back. Most likely father was dead, murdered by my mother and whoever else she could get under her graceful thumb. Orion was probably being spoiled to death by nursemaids, destined to become a little brat, as arrogant and self-loving as his father. As for Canis, either he married Mother, became her lover, or was mysterious married off to a distant cousin who resembled me enough to be taken as being Helen Black. With an inner smile, I wondered how many of these prophecies were true, how many of them would one day happen. The world I had once flourished in was no more than a passing thought, a mere thing that passed through a person's head only to vanish once again as reality returned. The dream world I had once believed real was no longer my own, the previous four years had made sure of that.

Where, then, did I truly belong? Was it the life I had created for myself in Egypt, or was it something far different in a far away place I had not yet imagined? There appeared to be no place for a woman in archaeology, at least not for an unmarried one with no connections to that discipline. I had not the talent nor the experience to be seen as anything more than an amateur, a mere dabbler in the art of reconstructing the past. More than anything I wanted to be among that group at the tomb entrance, waiting to enter what could be the greatest archaeological find of the century, possibly of all history, and yet I knew that there was nothing in the world that could get me there, that could put me in that place. If I was ever to be allowed into that tomb, it would only be in the guise of a tourist, never as an expert in the field of Egyptology.

The noise of excitement drew my attention away from my dreary thoughts and towards the rocky hole in the cliff. It sounded as though the door had finally been broken through, that the ancient seal had been removed from the door it had been placed upon thousands of years before. I only wondered if the seal had to have been completely destroyed in order to get through the doorway. The incantations and spells on that seal would have been fascinating to read. How much were they similar to the ones that were taught in the present? I had tried many times to trace Ancient Egyptian spells, even try them out myself, but it something was missing so that I was never successful in my attempts. I needed a key of some sort to fully understand Egyptian magic; any hope I had of finding that key was significant. It could very well be that this tomb, whatever was within it, held the key to comprehending and using the magic of the Ancient Ones.

As the archaeologists at the door carefully were brushing away the debris caused by creating the small hole at the top of the doorway, the air changed. I could have sworn that at that moment, the sky darkened and the wind picked up, blowing sand and dust into my eyes. Swirling dust clouds danced across the valley floor, causing the horses and camels to stomp their feet in protest. The perspiration on my skin that had been building up for the past hour suddenly chilled, leaving me shivering from the coolness. Yet no one else around me appeared to notice any of these mysterious signs of nature. They simply continued to stare towards the tomb, enthralled by nothing more than the sixteen steps that led to a dark doorway.

Then I heard the voices. They were only whispers, but so clear that it felt as though the speaker stood beside me, entering their confidences into my ear. They spoke of love and hate, of war and peace, of plenty and deprivation. They told of what had been and what was to come. They said everything that had ever been spoken as well as the words that each being until eternity would speak. The timbre of each voice was so widely different that I wondered how any one thing could create them. Yet somehow I knew that one being was making all this happen, making me see these visions and hear those voices.

The breeze gathered around me like the fabric of a silky dress, wrapping itself around me, running itself up and down my body, touching every inch of skin possible. It was as gentle as the hands of a lover, but without that feeling of affection or need. Its softness against my skin only increased my shivering to the point where my hands were like those of a very old person who could not control his limbs. Against my own will, it played a intimate game with me, forcing a quiet sigh from my lips as it brushed across my mouth and throat. Unseen hands played with the loose strands of hair at the nape of my neck, while another part of the breeze caressed by fingers. It was far from anything I had ever known or experienced. Far from anything that existed in the secular world. Only magic could do such a thing. Only magic could strike such a fear into my heart.

For once I was afraid. Afraid of this being, this thing that was doing this to me. What was it that played such games, tricked the senses into seeing and hearing things that were not really there? And why did it play with me and me alone? Whatever it was seemed to be enjoying itself at my expense, an expense I would not have preferred to pay.

When it finally left me, I took in a deep breath of air as though I had spent a lengthy period of time underwater. Certainly the exhaustion which overtook me suddenly was similar to that of a long-distance swimmer. Looking around at the others, no one seemed to have notice anything out of place. They did not appear to see my flushed skin or shaking hands. I may have been invisible to them for all I knew.

Pinching the skin on my arm to see if I was still indeed real, I turned away from the tomb entrance, feeling the need to take a very long and cold bath. I only hoped that whatever it was that came out of that tomb, for that was the only place I could think of such a thing coming from, would not return. But, of course, hope never got a person very far in life - it only makes one feel better about it.

_With my rotten luck,_ I muttered to myself as I sat astride my camel, _the damn thing will come back and bother me some more. _

I couldn't have been more correct with that statement.


	4. The Witching Hour

**The Witching Hour**

The words on the page blurred when I squinted at them for what seemed to be the thousandth time that day. Even with bright sunlight filtering through the window, my eyes were refusing to focus on the lines of hieroglyphs I had been hoping to finish translating. It was not as though I absolutely needed to complete the translation, since I was sure that my work would only be rejected due to my lack of experience. If I dwelled on that fact for very long, however, I would probably end up dead drunk in the Winter Palace, which would never do. It would fit the reputation I had mysteriously gained over the years for being a little too ... opinionated, and if I knew anything about reputations, usually they were completely false, born from mere rumour. But of course, rumour could too easily become truth.

With a bitter sigh, I pushed away the muddled paper I'd been scribbling on and rose, itching to do something that didn't involve sitting uselessly behind a desk. My dream to become a real archaeologist had not yet been fulfilled, but I had not quite given up. Each day since the tomb's opening, I had ventured down to its dusty entrance to watch the seemingly endless stream of workers going in and out of the tomb carrying various tools and baskets full of sand. Once or twice I saw Mr. Carter emerge from the depths, talking excitedly to one of his colleagues. No one appeared to notice my presence; I suppose they took me for a curious tourist.

Since the opening of the tomb, nothing untoward had occurred to explain the strange wind that had come up. Nor had anything occurred to prove to me that I had not merely been hallucinating. With the heat that day, I wouldn't be extremely surprised if I had been. Either that or something magical had been nearby, my own abilities alerting me to its presence. The Ancient Egyptians were known to use magic, especially in the sealing of tombs to protect the pharaoh's soul on its journey to the afterlife. The tomb of Tutankhamun was nearly intact, having been resealed by the priests, who would have, of course, made sure that the spells on the tomb were in working order.

But all that was merely conjecture. The magic of the Ancient Egyptians had been long forgotten. Hell, their language had only been rediscovered in the last one hundred years! It was one thing to learn an ancient language, but quite another to learn their magic as well.

I pushed back my chair, still rubbing my eyes. There could be no harm in me taking a long walk through Luxor and treat myself to dinner at one place or another. It wasn't like Cairo, where a person could nip into the grand market and eat one's fill on however much one could discreetly grab from the stalls. No, Luxor was still quite small when compared to the capital up the river. Either I would be caught and my hand promptly chopped off or I'd been seen by some scandalised acquaintance of mine. Knowing my luck, I'd been seen by a prospective employer, not that it was likely they'd have given me a job in the first place.

Grabbing my wand from its place in my desk drawer, I shoved the papers on my desk into decently organised piles and left to change. I couldn't exactly walk into the Winter Palace wearing an eccentric mix of native and European clothing. I might as well wear an overly-revealing scarlet dress. The question of which would be more gossip-provoking came to mind. It would certainly be an interesting experiment ... but not that night. All I wanted was a quiet evening walk through Luxor proper and perhaps the temple ruins as well. Such a walk would clear my mind and hopefully put an end to my melancholy. In the end, I decided on a simple white shirt and calf-length fawn skirt. It was as plain and modest as my wardrobe would allow me. A quick spell repaired the moth-eaten hem of the skirt, then I was ready to head into the wide world. Well, perhaps not with such enthusiasm. Taking a walk would be preferable to sitting inside all day long, making myself go blind over my books and alternately suffering bouts of self-pity, but it would not be something I would particularly enjoy.

After a walk down a dusty road and a harrowing ferry ride across the Nile, I managed to arrive on the East Bank none the worse for wear. The village ferry was usually less crowded than the tourist ones, but unfortunately, it did not receive the same degree of upkeep. I was never a fan of boats, even less so after my sojourn in Egypt. Sneaking behind a well-placed palm tree, I dusted off my clothes, making me presentable enough for entry to the Winter Palace, as tempted as they may be to send me through the servant's entrance. Come to think of it, that would have been a better choice. At least then I would not have run into the most annoying Smythe.

Entering the restaurant awarded me with a number of strange glances that were entirely unwarranted. What was wrong with a single young Englishwoman wanting a nice meal? I sat down and placed an order, glaring right back at a rather plump woman wearing a dress that would have been in fashion perhaps twenty years before. When she sniffed and looked away, I smiled to myself, then focussed my attention on my teacup. I couldn't help but wonder sometimes if the fact that I was a witch was evident to everyone, including muggles. That could explain why some of the society here had immediately taken offense to my presence, but then again, so could have my choice of taking rooms in the village instead of at an European establishment. I wasn't about to let the world know that I had no money.

My eyes widened suddenly and I reached into my pocket, praying that I indeed had enough for dinner, or just enough for the cup of tea I was drinking. One, two, three ... no, it wasn't quite enough. I was short a few shillings.

"Merde," I muttered under my breath, trying to ignore the low growl emanating from my stomach. If there was one piece of advice I took from my mother, it was to only swear in French or, even better, in an unrecognizable language.

"Now that's not a very lady-like thing to say," an amused voice said from beside me. "It's not a wonder that lady in the old dress over there is looking at you in such a way."

"Blast," I said, quietly enough so that only he would hear. "What the bloody hell are you doing in here?"

There was a flash of off-white as he grinned. "Mind if I join you, Miss Blakeney? My treat."

I bit back the scathing reply my mind was planning and chose to listen to the complaints of my stomach. It would be difficult to keep from biting his head off during this conversation. Too bad I hadn't brought my wand with me.

"That's very kind of you, Mr. Smythe. Please, sit down."

Of course by the time that I'd said that, he was already sitting across from me.

"Now," he said lightly. "In answer to your question, I came here to catch up with Luxor's social scene. I suppose that you're doing the same?"

My smile was so forced that I felt as though it had been drawn upon my face by that Spanish artist Picasso. "You can suppose what you like of me, Mr. Smythe, everyone else seems to enjoy that pastime."

"Tut, tut. Bitter, are we?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

I snorted loudly, making the frumpy woman across the room look even more discomfited.

"Indeed I am, and if you knew me better, you might figure out the reason why."

He winked. "I wouldn't mind knowing you better, Miss Blakeney. It's not everyday that a man like me meets a woman like you."

Choking on the tea biscuit I'd been promptly devouring, I tried as best I could to take control of my growing annoyance with the person I was sharing a table with. If he had not been paying for the meal, I'd have up and left as soon as he showed his face.

It took a couple extra sips of tea to get my throat back under control.

"I can tell you one thing, Mr. Smythe, and that is if you knew me better, you honestly wouldn't like what you saw."

His dark eyes flared with interest. "And just for that reason, I'd take the chance," he said with what seemed to be a natural cockiness. "I've always loved a girl with mystery."

Oh for Merlin's sake! He took every word I said and turned it around to benefit himself. I'd never win when it came to arguing with him. It was like he was running circles around my mind, and I could not let that continue. I was a Black, after all. So I ignored his last comment and instead signalled for the waiter, unable to contain my hunger any longer.

Once the food arrived, he asked, "Have you been to the tomb since the opening?"

"I go when I hear about the removal of a significant object," I replied between bites of chicken and peas. Damned if I'd tell him that I went everyday, filled with childish hope. With my luck, he'd already been inside the tomb and was only waiting to gloat.

"Me neither. I'm not really the type that they'd offer an invitation to."

So perhaps I wasn't right all the time. I didn't think that anyone was keeping track of such things anyway.

"Most of the people in Luxor now are in the same boat," he continued. "What I'd do to get into that tomb. From what I saw of you at the opening, Miss Blakeney, I'd say that you feel the same way."

I slammed my fork down on the table, causing the whole thing to shake rather precariously.

"How dare you think you can guess my thoughts, Mr. _Smythe_," I spat furiously. "First you barge in here and ruin my peaceful meal, then you go ahead and antagonise me while I'm trying to eat! There's only so much I can take -" I broke off, trapping the words on my tongue.

"Before what, Miss Blakeney?" he asked innocently, as though he hadn't even noticed that I was seriously annoyed with him.

This required quick thinking.

"Well, um, before I ungraciously stalk out of here vowing never to speak to you again." The alternate of wanting to turn him into a toad was rather cliched for my tastes.

He looked as though he were about to laugh. After such a threat, he really should not have been, but it was not the best of my threats. I had not threatened a cruel and unusual death, possibly because the consequences of killing him in front of all these people would not be pleasant.

"You probably would have done that anyway, Miss Blakeney," he said cheerfully, "if it had not been for the fact that I was treating you to a meal."

Damn him! Damn him to Hades and back! I'm sure the man would even find something amusing about hell, he was that blasted cheerful! I could simply not abide to remain in the company of such a person, even if it would mean missing out on dessert.

Rising from my chair, I threw the napkin from my lap onto my now-empty plate.

"Thanks very much for the meal, Mr. Smythe," I said in what I hoped to be my most sarcastically-ungrateful voice. "If only the conversation was as pleasant."

He rose and bowed gallantly. "The pleasure was all mine, Miss Blakeney."

I decided not to swear at him under my breath. He didn't deserve the attention.

Stalking out of the room while grumbling about annoying muggles, I hardly noticed my direction until I found myself in the middle of Luxor temple. With a sigh of relief and a quick glance behind me to check that I hadn't been followed by Smythe, or anyone else for that matter, I settled down for a relaxing evening strolling through Amenhotep's colonnade and the rows of sphinxes that lined the old road to Karnak. Among the monuments of a bygone era, I was in my element. It was impossible to count how many times I had translated the worn away hieroglyphs or gazed in wonder at the sheer beauty of the site as a whole. Places like this were the reason I had chosen Egypt over anywhere else in the world.

Until the sky grew too dark to see well enough, I scribbled notes in my little book, rechecking a symbol in one place or trying to copy an inscription before it disappeared entirely from human sight. The bustle of the town continued around me, but when I started to hear the sounds of night, I knew it was long past the time I should have started the journey back to my rooms. It really wasn't a long walk to the ferry from the temple, except for the fact that I'd probably missed the last Balidi Ferry to the village. The tourist ones ran longer into the night for those who were taking a moonlight stroll through the archaeological sites.

But tourists travelled in herds, rather like sheep, and I was very much alone.

Looking about the temple ruins, I realised how very much alone I was. Although there was the constant sound of human life bubbling in the surrounding streets, I could not see anyone else in the ruins. The hairs on the back of my neck were rising as though someone was watching me, but who? It was not a feeling I particularly enjoyed.

Walking towards the entrance, I began to recognise the feeling. It was similar to the one I had experienced at the opening of the tomb. Whatever was out there watching me did not belong in this world. It must have sensed my magical ability and focussed its attention on me because I did not belong either. As far as I knew, there were no other witches or wizards closer than Cairo at the branch of Gringotts there. None of the recent tourists were of my kind; one could just tell if someone was a witch or wizard, even if they appeared in the same guise as a muggle.

Biting my lip, I continued walking down the pathway between the rows of sphinxes. My hands were beginning to tremble as I imagined spectres leaping out from behind each stone. The eyes of each statue seemed to be watching my movements. Alone, I definitely was not.

Surreptitiously, I reached into the folds of my blouse to obtain my wand, only to find that I had left it at my lodgings. I was doing that more and more often since I was hardly ever using magic. With each passing year, I was becoming more of a muggle, doing things my hand that I'd have scorned in my old life back in England. Even when I did use magic, I'd sometimes forget the words of a spell, or what wand motion to use. Either I'd have to get back into practise or I'd lose my capabilities altogether, becoming no better than a bloody Squib. And now, now when I could have used my magic, I was defenceless against whatever was there, stalking me like a cat.

But I was no mouse.

When I finally reached the entrance to the temple, I kept my back against the wall, glancing about to try and see if anything or anyone was about. There were some carousers further down the street, singing bawdy songs and obviously would be of more a hinder than help. Most of the houses were dark, making me wonder just how long I'd been sitting out in the temple. I was sure that I'd packed up my things just after sunset, but perhaps it'd been later than that. Either that or my journey out of the temple had taken an impossibly long time.

With whatever it was out there watching me, I really shouldn't have been surprised. Beings like the one I thought it was had strange control over the world and over time. It wanted me in this place at this particular time, and I was beginning to get worried as to the reason why.

One of the shadows to my left moved. Only slightly, but enough to put me on guard. I ducked out of the way just as a heavy-looking stick wacked at the air where my head had been a moment before. Falling upon the terribly dusty ground, I rolled away from the next attacker as he - it had to be a he - kicked out with his legs. The boots on his feet told me that I wasn't dealing with any petty thieves or beggars. These men meant business, which put me in a very difficult position. The only weapon I had was a dull pencil and my bare hands. Everyone knew that Slytherins _never_ fight with bare hands - that was reserved for those silly Gryffindors - but it seemed as though I would have no choice at this particular moment.

So I gave the kicking man a swift kick in the knee. The resounding crack was quite stomach-turning, but at least it temporarily stopped him from trying to impale me with his extremely large foot.

Picking myself off the ground and desperately trying not to imagine what that terrible stain on my skirt was, I was pushed hard against the nearest wall, feeling my head swim as the brick came in contact with the back of my head. I felt the man pressing against me with his entire body, his breath stinking of that Russian "water of life".

He began to laugh; I could feel the movement of his stomach muscles against my own and it disgusted me beyond reproach. With one arm, he had me pinned, while the other was reaching towards the buttons on my blouse. I watched that hand come closer and closer, the feeling of dread growing with every moment. His partner was rising from the ground, swearing as he limped over to the other side of the street. The sweat was glittering on his brow in the moonlight and his breath was heavy.

One out of two wasn't so bad, after all.

Then something came to mind. I felt so foolish to have not thought of it before.

But would it work? That was the question. Even though I did have my licence, Father had never approved of using apparition in and around the house. He called it lazy. So I'd never really apparated since my test, um, quite a few years before.

While I was standing in the street being attacked, however, I called it a godsend.

A knife suddenly appeared in the hand of my attacker, who grinned menacingly as he brought it to rest against the flesh of my now-exposed collarbone. Closing my eyes, I made a mental picture of my lodgings. There was the desk, covered in papers. Then behind it was a small window. In front of the desk was my rug, not that it liked being referred to as a rug. I focussed on that colourful floor-covering, with its ornate Persian designs woven upon it.

As the knife flicked away the first button, leaving a small gash on my chest, I vanished with a loud _pop!_ landing on the aforementioned rug and promptly falling over. It was only too bad that I hadn't gotten the opportunity to see the faces of my attacker when he found that the woman he'd been pinning to the wall was no longer there. However, that feeling didn't come until much later, after I had washed away the smell of his body and was able to block the grin on his face from my mind. Lying on the rug, I took in deep, gasping breaths as I tried to control the trembling of my muscles. That had been far too close for comfort.

"Sitt, are you alright?" asked a shy voice from the doorway.

Standing there, staring at me with wide, liquid brown eyes, was the youngest son of my landlady. I jumped up and felt my face flush with embarrassment. My day was going from bad to worse. It was definitely time to get myself to bed.

"Yes, Hasim," I replied, my voice rushing over the words. "I just tripped over my carpet."

He tilted his head and looked down at the rug with curiosity.

"Did it mean to trip you, Sitt?"

I shrugged. "It has a mind of its own." Haha, how true that statement was!

"There's an _effendi_ to see you," he said, giving me a look filled with suspicion, as though he doubted my virtue.

"What sort of _effendi_?" If it was Mr. Smythe, there would be enough time to escape through the window. I was small enough to fit through the hole. I knew that from experience.

"What other sort is there?" he asked querulously with a small sneer. "He looks like he comes from the same place that you do. All pale and sickly."

Smythe was dark-haired with tanned skin. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'll see him then, I suppose," I told him in what I hoped was a kind voice.

He rolled his eyes and left the room at his usual shuffling pace, probably wondering why his mother had taken on such a mad lodger. I wouldn't be surprised if they thought me some sort of _afrit_ or otherwise inhuman creature. I certainly felt like one at the time.

As soon as he was out of sight, I leapt behind the desk and rummaged through the drawers until my hand came upon my wand. It was a rather pretty thing of mahogany, about ten inches long, which a very nice carved handle. Father had paid dearly for it, I remembered with a small frown when I saw a small dent in the wood. Then I heard approaching footsteps in the hall, so I quickly set aside thoughts about where the dent had come from and focussed more upon my appearance. The rips in my blouse were quickly repaired and the buttons were put back in place. Just when the door was opening, I slipped the wand into my hair to keep all the strands in place.

I turned back to the door and smiled. The man who appeared at the door was not at all sickly looking. Hasim was obviously biassed in what he believed to be sickly and what was not. The man who stood there staring back at me was very tall and slender - he was forced to stoop slightly in the doorframe - with reddish-blond hair that covered his head in boyish waves. His eyes were a stormy grey, and I was sure that other colours would appear at a closer inspection. He was very well-muscled and had an aura of authority and self-sufficiency that did not at all ring of Smythe's cockiness. No, this man was definitely no Mr. Smythe.

"Helen Blakeney?" he asked in a melodic voice that immediately put him in the category of the upper-class, well-educated Englishman.

I reached out my hand to fill the distance between us. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. -"

"Cadogan," he supplied with a small bow before he took my hand in his for a moment longer than necessary.

"And have you been in Egypt long, Mr. Cadogan?" Obviously, he hadn't. That much I could tell from the type of clothes he wore and the way he acted. Many social rules were not so strictly adhered to at such a distance from Britain, and people tended to wear lighter clothing, unlike this man's black woolen City suit. Such things were simply not worn in Egypt.

"I just arrived and have been enchanted by both the land and its occupants." With this last statement, he gave me a look that would have amounted to a wink had he not been so well-bred.

Grabbing some books off of a rickety chair, I invited him to sit down, but he refused with a flowery apology.

"I'm afraid that I cannot stay for long, Miss Blakeney, even though spending more time in your charming company would be agreeable." I had hardly known the man for five minutes and he was already flirting with me. There had to be a catch in this somewhere.

"May I enquire as to your business then, sir?" I asked courteously.

He stepped forward onto the rug. I looked down at it with alarm as the tassels began to squirm, then firmly placed my foot upon them. _Quiet_, I voiced silently. Fortunately, it chose that moment to actually listen to my commands.

"Of course, forgive me," Mr. Cadogan said. "I am in need of someone with knowledge of the area and of its history. I was referred to you as one who would suit the job better than anyone else."

I flushed brightly, only then noticing that there was still a spot of blood on my blouse. That only increased the amount of red on my cheeks.

Perhaps things were starting to look up for me. How many times does a handsome and polite man walk through one's door and offer a job that you just can't resist? But later on, after he had left, I began to wonder why he had appeared at such a strange time of day, unless of course it was in fashion to call on people just before midnight. All the same, I wasn't going to refuse him, even if he was crooked. It wouldn't be much different than my jobs in the past.

I went to bed that night ready to dream about finding priceless antiquities in unexplored tombs with Mr. Cadogan to congratulate me in any way he chose. Of course, those dreams never came, because I didn't sleep at all. The damn neighbour's tomcat had chosen that night to sit outside my window and caterwaul to all the ladies that he was in the market for a mate. I wondered how any self-respecting lady-cat would answer such a terrible noise. It rather reminded me of Smythe's forward comments earlier that evening. The very thought of that most annoying man caused me to turn over and cover my ears with the pillow, wondering how the world had let itself be overrun by fools.


	5. Why Are You Here?

**Why Are You Here?**

Unlike my previous employers, Mr. Cadogan was not very interested in the antiquities I showed him in the warehouses, nor in the numerous tombs I led him through. His eyes would glance for a moment at the carvings and decorations, then move off into the shadows as though expecting an ancient ghost to come storming out. I gave him the grand tour of Thebes and Luxor, from the grandest temples to the most interesting night life the area had to offer. Mr. Cadogan, however, found little interest in the usual activities of his type in Luxor and it was not at all any lack of trying on my part.

If ever I asked him about what he would like to do next, he would turn to me with a strange glint in his eyes.

"You are the expert, Miss Blakeney. I am in your capable hands."

As this was always spoken in most serious way and without sarcasm, I put aside my curiosity and went on to the next important location on my list, which was, I might add, conveniently taken from an old edition of Baedeker's. However, I was beginning to wonder what exactly he was doing in Luxor and Thebes. Furthermore, why had he requested my services? Unless I was somehow the cheapest expert guide he could find. If he really wanted to save money, a dragoman would have suited him well enough, especially since he never paid attention to what I told him anyway.

At this point, someone like Mr. Smythe would have made a comment about me being the prettiest guide in Egypt. It was a thought, but not one I liked to ponder. Had I been able to imagine anyone else saying such a comment, I would have been more likely to take credit in it.

Mr. Cadogan did not require my services on the Friday after he first paid his way into my company. Of course I ventured down to the tomb, resting myself upon the retaining wall close to the tomb entrance. An elderly couple glared at me as I settled into a hollowed out section of stone, but I was clueless as to why. I was not dressed as a belly dancer or anything otherwise inappropriate. I had even remembered to wear my hat.

A wooden chest was then carried out of the tomb on a stretcher.

It was an exquisite thing, all inlaid wood and precious materials creating images of pastoral scenes. The crowd around me gasped in appreciation of the object, which was only one example of the greatness to be found within that tomb. Merlin, how I wanted to go in there! It was probably a wretched hole carved into the rock, something quickly put together for a pharaoh who should not have died for at least another decade, but it was the objects within it that mattered. The funerary equipment, the furniture, the statues, the simple items for use in the Afterlife... the list could go on and on. Filled with envy, I sighed in what must have been a most pathetic manner because the elderly couple once again glared at me. What did they think?

I left soon after. The old woman took my place on the wall.

Wandering down the Valley, I took in the barren, stony walls and crowds of tourists in stride. Neither truly wanted the other to be there, but really had no choice. Though, come to think of it, the walls did have more of a choice – they could crumble down on top of the tourists at any moment, crushing them all to bits. That would certainly rid the area of a number of problems, yet also cause more to the economy... It was all quite complicated.

"Fancy meeting you here, Miss Blakeney."

I closed my eyes in painful annoyance. Now here was someone who ought to have been crushed long ago.

"Ugh, not you again." Of course I should have known that insults only attracted him like a fly to dung.

He grinned and loped along beside me. "Off looking at the tomb?"

"Where else?"

"Just a guess."

I said nothing. Maybe if I ignored him for long enough, he would go away.

"I heard that you're showing around someone with lots of cash."

A growl emitted from my throat. "Only an American would come up with a word so vulgar as 'cash' and why would you care about who I work for? I certainly don't as long as he pays well."

I regretted those words as soon as I spoke them. The connotation they held was all too obvious in a most embarrassing way.

"People are talking about strange things going on around here," he said, changing the subject. At least he had the decency to pretend I hadn't spoken. "The usual sort of ghost stories that fill a place like this, but something about them is different this time."

I shrugged. "It's probably only a select few troublemakers taking advantage of the tomb's opening. They do say that it is cursed, after all."

"Ha! You're the last person I'd expect to be believing in curses."

Oh, if only he knew the beginning of it. "Most of the parchments I study contain curses and spells of different sorts."

"But you don't believe in them, do you?"

There were two answers I could have given him, but I smiled instead. Let him quaver in uncertainty. He deserved it.

"You know that you're one of the strange things I was talking about." He said the words lightly, but there was also seriousness in his tone.

I snorted. "Only because you're trying to seduce me."

"Not at the moment."

"Then would you mind going away?"

"I'm not done yet."

"But you just said–"

"I'm talking, not seducing."

"Then please get to the point. I don't have time for this." Actually, I did, seeing that I had nothing to do at the moment, but I was not about to admit that to him.

"You're a difficult person to put a finger on."

"Literally or metaphorically?"

He stopped and glared at me. "Please, can't you be serious for just a moment?"

I stood facing him, my arms crossed in front of me. He looked far better with a glare than a grin. Instead of making him look like a dirty thief, the glare gave intensity of his eyes and emphasised his chiselled features. The glare also meant that he had his mouth closed, that is, until he opened it to ask:

"Who are you?"

I laughed at his question. "Do you have selective amnesia, Mr. Smythe?"

He waved this aside. "No, I know what name you go by, and as for your real name I couldn't care less."

"Then what do–"

"Perhaps this is more to the point," he interrupted. He was becoming frustrated. It was rewarding to have the upper hand for once. "Why are you in Egypt?"

What sort of question was that? Many hundreds of people visited Egypt each year, even more since the publicity of Tutankhamun's tomb had arisen. What made me any different from the rest of them?

_The small fact that I'm a witch?_

That was unimportant. It was not as though I went around proclaiming that fact. Why, the last time I used magic ... was last night. I used it when those men attacked me. They were drunk at the time, or so I thought... Magic in front of muggles was not a wise action. The tiniest seed of fear was planted within my chest. Who exactly was this man to keep confronting me in this way? What kept bringing our paths together? Unless, of course, he had planned it that way.

Smythe was waiting for my answer. The longer I held off providing it, the most suspicious he would become.

"I could ask the same of you," I finally said, already turning away from him. "But I won't. It's none of my business and I hope that you feel the same, Mr. Smythe."

I walked away too quickly, my footsteps guided by instinct more than reason. My reason was busy interpreting the clues, the things he had given away in all the time I had been acquainted with the irritable Mr. Smythe. The way that he mentioned curses and persisted in asking questions made me wonder if he had been sent to find me. It was very possible that, after five years, he had finally found my trail and followed it to Egypt, then to Thebes. In Cairo, I had been in disguise, but had also lived there for an extended amount of time. Eventually, any pursuer would have caught on to the reputation of a strangely pale street girl. From there, he could have interviewed the boat captains and crew, soon finding the one that brought me upriver. Piece would have fit into piece, leading directly to me.

It was never a question of who would be searching for me desperately enough to hire a supposedly-muggle private informer. But perhaps he was not a muggle after all, but a wizard I simply did not recognise, who was able to hide his powers better than even I. He was following me at the behest of my parents and Canis Malfoy.

I broke into a run, hoping to escape Smythe.

Another fear struck me, so much so that a group of tourists on their way into the Valley gazed at me in alarm as I passed. What if my father was now dead, leaving the estate, not to Orion, but to me? Mother and Malfoy already knew that I would never agree with their wishes, and so planned to kill me so that they could inherit father's estate. With me still alive, even if they could fake my death somehow, I could return at any moment to England to claim my inheritance, then what would they do? They either needed me dead or alive, not missing in a foreign land.

My head began to pound with all the thoughts running through it. Oh Merlin, that man, that Smythe, what if he was the man sent to kill me? And I had eaten dinner with him, spoken with him, regarded him as a reasonably decent-looking foolish prig who only wanted to get me into his embrace, not into a coffin.

He was a not a thief, as I had believed. He was an assassin.

My head was hurting too much, so I went home to bed. Far easier than dealing with the troubles of the world. It could deal with them on its own for a few hours. Hiding away in bed was perhaps not the best of choices if someone was trying to kill me, but I had no reason to believe that Smythe knew where I lived. How many would expect a pureblooded witch to live in the home of a widow in a poor village? My poor mother would have been horrified.

Hours later, my eyes opened to see the glare of the setting sun against the wall of my chamber. The pounding had subsided somewhat – it was rather worse than a hangover. The low feeling in my stomach was not nausea, but a feeling of intense dread. Oh yes, intense dread. However cliched that phrase is in shilling shockers, when one actually ends up experiencing it, the feeling is quite real.

There was a fly creeping up the wall, buzzing loudly each time he almost fell. If I had been standing, I would have squished him, but in the absence of that...

_Stupefy!_

It took only another flick to shoot the creature out the window. I was certainly not in the killing business, unlike certain other people.

I heard someone rushing down the corridor. The son of my landlady threw open the door without knocking. Someone ought to tell the child that such a thing was impolite, or perhaps he was hoping that, at the moment he entered, I would be getting dressed.

"What is it, Amir?" Such an appropriate nickname for a very un-princely boy.

He handed an envelope to me. Whatever he had been eating a few moments before now covered it in a sugary, sticky substance.

"Been at the sweetmeats again, have you?"

He only grinned and caught the coin I threw him before running out of the room.

It took a few minutes to extricate the letter without covering it and myself in the sticky whatever-it-was. I took in the strong hand that crossed its t's with impatient fury and didn't even bother to dot the i's.

_Dear Miss Blakeney, _

_I was alarmed to hear of your sudden illness and hasten to write you something before I return to Thebes. There was within me the hope that you would join me for dinner tonight at the Winter Palace, and I extend that invitation for the next available moment you have. The business I was conducting earlier today came to an end sooner than I had expected, and there need not be another day when I am not in your most pleasant company. _

_You may contact me via the front desk of the Winter Palace. They will know where to find me. _

_May you find health swiftly and easily, _

_S. Cadogan_

What strange language the man used! I felt as though I were reading some bad translation of a long-dead language. Who on earth used phrases such as "may you find health swiftly and easily"? Even poor medieval Latin had better word usage than that. However, I had to admit that some of his statements brought a rush of blood to my cheeks. He almost sounded as though he enjoyed spending time with me, which, seeing that he usually appeared bored while I rattled off about ancient ruins. It could be one of those things a person says to a friend without truly meaning it, yet somehow I felt that there was sincerity in his words.

I wondered what the S stood for.

* * *

There are times when one's private thoughts ought not to be recorded for others to see, especially when such thoughts could cause offense to a certain reader who constantly looks over my shoulder as I work. I cannot censor the exact events, as they play such a significant role in the conclusion of this narrative, but I can censor my words that ran through my head at the time. Often the words someone spoke to me and the order of events become muddled in my mind, but the emotions are always there, strong and accurate. They are things I can never cease to remember.

And so I continue my narrative on the following afternoon. A long period of rest allowed me to come to grips with all that had transpired the previous day. Perhaps I will admit that I was hiding in my lodgings because I was sure that Smythe would be searching for me throughout the area. If he was as good of an informer as he must have believed himself to be, he would come across my whereabouts sooner than I desired.

I at least wanted to see the tomb before I died.

Well, if I was going to think that way, there could be no harm in splurging the rest of my money. First of all, I took the expensive tourist ferry to Luxor. Then I wandered through the bazaar, buying pretty pieces of jewellery that claimed to be owned by the wives of pharaohs. Maybe the wives of the shopkeeper had worn them, if they were lucky.

So I arrived at the Winter Palace, attired in my second-best frock that had no water stains from the boat ride, wearing more jewellery than was probably appropriate, and having my hair arranged without a single strand out of place. For once, I fit in with the other women there. I smiled at the porter at the desk, leaving him a message to pass onto Mr. Cadogan, and continued on into the lounge to order a cup of tea.

He arrived five minutes later than I expected, but one can never trust that there won't be fit of congestion in the marketplace. Anyway, it gave me long enough to settle in with my tea.

"I'm relieved to see you in health so soon, Miss Blakeney." He came up behind me and made an awkward little bow, rather like this French gentleman I'd once seen. It's very quaint to have a gentleman bow to oneself.

"You're too kind, Mr. Cadogan," I replied with a smile. "Please, join me for tea."

He slid into the chair opposite me. "One does learn to be kind to beautiful women." Against my better judgement, I blushed. At least he had the charm to make such a statement without making it sound crude. I took another sip of tea to hide my face.

"Was there something you needed to see me for, sir?"

Leaning back in the chair, he tented his fingers and met my eyes. "Why no, not really. I simply thought that you would like to join me for dinner. Nothing against that, is there?"

I put down my cup. "No, I'm just curious. I'm not the type to get many dinner invitations."

He raised an eyebrow, but remained silent, instead bending forward to take a biscuit. His hands were very long-fingered and white, but not effeminate, as some aristocratic hands can appear. There was a strength about them – about his whole person, for that matter – that could only be observed under close examination. Once again, I wondered just why he was in Egypt.

"Why are you here, Mr. Cadogan?" I blurted out. When he gave me a questioning glance, I added, "Not here in this room, but here in Egypt. You're hardly the most attentive person when we travel to the sites."

He blinked, holding a biscuit between two fingers. "It is not that your lectures are interesting, Miss Blakeney..."

I waved his words aside. "I don't care about that. At least tourists try to display excitement about the sites, but you're not a tourist."

"No, I am not."

"Nor are you an Egyptologist, though you are familiar with hieroglyphics, which is rare outside of archaeological circles."

"What makes you believe that I am familiar with them?"

I shrugged. "Just the way that you follow the symbols with your eyes. It looks like you're reading them."

"Well, Miss Blakeney, you can never trust your eyes, then, can you?" He smiled and made the biscuit he was holding disappear with a twist of his hand.

Putting down my teacup, I sat back in my chair. "I am not one to be won over by simple magic tricks, Mr. Cadogan." I nodded towards his sleeve. "The awkward shape of a biscuit is hardly suitable for slight-of-hand."

He coloured, though it seemed to be more of rage than embarrassment.

"Most do not see such things," he said, his eyes bulging in an unattractive way.

I rose from the chair. "I am not 'most people', Mr. Cadogan. You would do well to remember that."

He stood up and inclined his head. "Believe me, Miss Blakeney. I will not forget."

My eye was caught by the entrance of a man at the other side of the room. He was neither short nor tall, large nor slender, but the well-tanned skin streaked with scars gave away his identity. Cursing under my breath, I lowered the brim of my hat over my eyes and turned away. He must have been looking for me. His eyes had been roaming the crowd.

"Miss–" Mr. Cadogan began, but I cut him off.

"Sorry, I just remembered something I have to do. Goodbye."

He reached out for my arm, but I twisted away from his grasp and rushed forward, nearly knocking over a waiter in the process. Keeping my head low, I bumbled out of the tea room, through the lobby, and into the street. I heard Smythe call my name. He was more observant than I'd previously thought. To have him as an adversary was very dangerous indeed. If only he knew how dangerous I could be in return.


End file.
